


Holy Fire

by LonelyHousePlant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Castiel's Point of View, Dean in Hell, Dean's Point of View, Dean's soul is pretty, M/M, Savior Castiel, What Was I Thinking?, point of view changes, this is kind of weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:06:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyHousePlant/pseuds/LonelyHousePlant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His soul is vibrant. Gold and red and glowing, shining like a beacon. It’s bold sunsets and fireworks and dry lightning on a hot day and Castiel knows in the deepest part of himself that he would rip and slay and dig his way through Hell a thousand times over to preserve it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Fire

His soul is vibrant. Gold and red and glowing, shining like a beacon. It’s bold sunsets and fireworks and dry lightning on a hot day and Castiel knows in the deepest part of himself that he would rip and slay and dig his way through Hell a thousand times over to preserve it. 

He reaches out to the beautiful soul, grasping it from behind, mighty wings encompassing it in holy protection. There was an immediate connection, like a ligament snapping into place. 

He experienced everything as this soul had experienced it, the terrified and pleading screams ripped from bodies torn and helpless, the art of blood and blade and pain. Both as receiver and giver, Dean Winchester had known these horrors. Sick satisfaction and undiluted rage was threatening to seep its way into the purity of his Father’s anointed creation, tainting him.

Gripping Dean tight, Castiel rose up with a mighty force, to break free from the deep pit of smoke and evil at last.

———————

There was nothing but light, bright white and burning. 

Burning everywhere, the pain so enormous, the tortures in Hell could not touch it. He could feel it stripping him away with sharp accuracy, peeling away everything down to his bones and then boiling those away too. He was floating, merging with the light. 

He was suddenly aware that he was not surrounded by an element, but by and entity. It wrapped him in it’s power, shielding him, protecting him. 

“What are you?”

Dean did not so much speak it as feel it, but he knew that whatever was enveloping him would understand.

“I am the one who has come to raise you from perdition.”

The voice was ringing and clear, but also sweet and thick like honey, unimaginable power and unknowable ancient secrets crackled behind it’s words, overwhelming Dean with a deep sense of awe and he suddenly realized that he was no longer frightened or angry, he was at peace.

He felt a drifting ease wash through him and he suddenly trusted this being more than he had ever trusted anything or anyone before, and he fell into something like sleep, but not sleep. It was a warm state of rest, and he gladly receives this long awaited comfort with open arms.

————————

The agony was there again, almost worse than the last time, white flames swallowing and devouring him. A physical shape was being built around him, he could feel it buzzing everywhere, pink muscles snaking up pearly bones, nerves and veins and the blood pumping through them. Eyes bloomed from sockets, and he could see and hear and feel. The being was remaking him, replacing his decaying flesh, making him fresh and firm. Skin covered him soft and pale, blanketing him, and he felt whole.

He was aware that the being carrying him had taken on a some-what more physical form as well, still holding onto him, but this time Dean could not look at him, he was too bright and Dean had to squeeze his eyes closed. He could feel it’s intense power vibrating right through him, but he was not afraid.

“What happened?” Dean asked, trying out his new tongue .

“You have been reborn in holy fire.”

The voice was too loud, not clear and sweet as it had been, it was piercing him straight through, and a flutter of fear beat against his stomach. He decided not to ask anymore questions.

‘You have been reborn in holy fire.’

He suddenly remembered what it had been to be dead, that he had been in Hell. He remembered the slicing of flesh and the sick satisfaction he had felt when he had cut into them, those shrieking, begging souls writhing on the rack. He remembered the eagerness he had felt to have another strung up in front of him, how he longed to make anyone and everyone feel the pain he had felt, know the agony he had endured.

It was all rising back to him in great waves, the tranquility and comfort the creature holding him had once provided dissolving with the realization of what happened to him, what he had done. It was overwhelming him, his revived sense of humanity was disgusted with his weakness. He wanted to weep for the injustice of it all.

Then he remembered what it was to be alive. He remembered summer days and school papers returned late, he remembered making mac and cheeses for dinner and motel beds. He remembered rock salt and gun powder, the smell of smoke from a funeral pyre and his dad’s leather jacket. He remembered Led Zeppelin and cheese burgers, lace underwear and whisky. 

He remembered Sam. Sam who was good and smart and brave. Sam who still held onto hope after everything, who was stronger than Dean could ever be, who loved peanut butter and banana sandwiches and who’s smile pressed dimples into his cheeks. Sam who he had given everything for, sold his soul for.

Shame filled him at the thought of going back to him, his little brother, as the twisted thing he had become. A monster worth hunting.

Perhaps this was just another one of Hell’s tricks, healing him in a way so complete, letting him taste hope and comfort, remember his humanity so it would hurt twice as much when they ripped it away from him again.

—————————

There was darkness, and silence, and his breath came ragged. Panic threatened to grip him. But then, by some miracle, he had a lighter in his pocket. He flicked the lighter three times before a small flame flickered to life, and all he could see was pine wood above him and his own fingers.

His mouth was dry and his throat felt like sand paper. He coughed, tried to speak, call for help, but his voice rasped. He was in a coffin.

He had been dead, he was meant to be dead, he remembered Hell, he could still hear the screams, feel the gore drying against his skin. He pushed back all the thoughts threatening to run circles in his head, and let instinct drive him. he needed to get out of the ground.

Out of the ground and home to Sam. He would be waiting for him, he knew he would.

————————

Castiel was there when Dean woke in the ground, he could feel his panic, his confusion. He knew that Dean would not remember him, birth is never remembered. 

He could feel what the human felt, the sharp intake of his labored breath and the rough wood of the coffin lid scrapping against his fists. He could smell the soil and the rot pungent in his nose, the dirt clouding his airways and blurring his vision. It was a nightmare realized, dragging yourself from your own grave.

But Dean had done things far more challenging in his lifetime, and Castiel knew that God only granted such trials to those who could overcome them. 

Humans were very adaptable creatures. Castiel had been watching over them since the dawn of creation, and they had yet to fail at astonishing him.

But this human in particular, was truly astonishing. And he knew him inside and out, on a molecular level, he knew him. He knew each nerve in his body, hair on his head, each freckle that dusted his skin. 

He felt something stir in him when he remembered the warm glow of Dean Winchester’s soul reaching to him through the darkness that surrounded them. Nearly all human souls were indescribably beautiful, but this beauty, it was otherworldly, and something in Castiel ached to be close to it.

———————

He could not understand why the bond and joined awareness did not peel back once Dean was broken free of Hell. Castiel tried to speak to him, but he was forced to recoil. His voice was far too powerful, causing the human immense ringing pain.

He did not understand. He could feel and see and hear things that Dean did, it seemed cruel that Dean couldn’t hear him.

————————

Taking a vessel was strange. He didn’t know how humans managed to live in such tight skins.   
The room was concrete, the lights burst into sparks as he felt his power vibrate through the building and those occupying it. He presented his wings for them, let his grace shine through his knew form.

Bullets caught in his chest, the ripping feeling was strange. He could feel awe and terror radiating in the room, the adrenaline running hot in Dean’s veins, the pounding of his heart. 

Castiel felt the knife Dean plunged into him less than the lack of recognition in the man’s eyes as he looked up at him with nothing but fear.

Those frightened eyes would be etched into Castiel’s memory forever, more clearly than the first day of creation.

He reminds himself that birth is never remembered.


End file.
